


The Hunter

by Southern_Natter



Category: Star Trek, The Silence of the Lambs (1991)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Serial Killers, Alternate Universe - The Silence of the Lambs, Blood and Gore, Dark, FBI Agent Jim Kirk, M/M, Serial Killer Leonard McCoy, Serial Killers, The Silence of the Lambs - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-17
Updated: 2014-06-25
Packaged: 2018-02-05 01:05:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 15,914
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1799824
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Southern_Natter/pseuds/Southern_Natter
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Agent Jim Kirk is assigned the task of catching the psychotic murderer known as Khan and must seek out the help of the incarcerated serial killer Dr. Leonard McCoy to catch Khan before he kills again.</p><p>(a Silence of the Lambs au)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Meeting

**Author's Note:**

> When I say the plot is heavily based on Silence of the Lambs, I absolutely mean it. Sure, there are some differences; but Jim is basically Clarice, Bones is Hannibal, and Khan is Buffalo Bill. Please note that this isn't a crossover, just an au. I do not own Silence of the Lambs or Star Trek.

Jim woke to the shrill sound of his phone ringing next to his head. He immediately attempted to cease the noise before placing it up to his ear.

"James Kirk," he grumbled sleepily.

"Jim, I have a situation for you," the voice on the phone said. "Khan's got another girl."

_Shit. I'm not awake enough to deal with this,_ Jim thought. "Who was it, do we know?"

"Admiral Alexander Marcus reported that his daughter Carol was taken from their home sometime before six PM Tuesday. Said nothing in the house had been touched or disturbed in any way except for his missing daughter and Khan's usual note. There are, of course, no witnesses."

"Any connections to the other victims?" Jim rolled out of his warm, soft bed and went into his bathroom.

"Her father has a history of working with other people who've had loved ones kidnapped by Khan. She also has fair, smooth skin, like Khan's usual prey."

Jim placed a fresh towel on the sink and began to undress. "Okay. I'll be at HQ in an hour. Thanks for the update, Pike. Kirk out." He ended the call and turned on the shower, desperately trying to wake himself up. The bucket of facts that had just been dumped on him were swirling around in his foggy brain, refusing to connect to any other facts Jim knew about the case. He had one hour to get his act together before he returned to the hunt, and he had to make it count.

\---

As soon as Jim walked in the door, Chris handed him a folder and started talking. Jim followed his boss up the stairs of the FBI building and into his office, soaking up every ounce of information that Chris threw at him. He explained that a body had been found off the side of Plum River in Illinois a few minutes after he finished his conversation with Jim on the phone that morning. They would be heading out after the debriefing to go look at it.

"The local police have informed us that there are sections of her skin missing."

"A Khan victim, then," Jim said, looking over the photos attached to the report.

"Yep. They've identified her as Lindsy Frakes, the girl missing from last month."

Jim looked up. "The one from Indiana? Why is she special?"

Shaking his head, Chris sat down on the edge of his desk. "We don't know yet. Admiral Marcus is making a big deal about his daughter's disappearance to the press. He's demanding that we solve this case instantly and get his daughter back."

"Like we haven't been working our asses off to catch Khan for the past five months," Jim scoffed.

"I know, but the higher ups want us to pull out all the stops now. They're afraid of how this will reflect on the Bureau."

Jim, having set the folder on the desk, folded his arms and glared. "They don't think we know that? What more do they want us to do?"

There was a long pause as Chris stared at Jim, looking hesitant. "We're going to use a consultant of sorts."

Jim's eyebrows disappeared into his mess of blond bangs.

"I know," Chris said with a sigh, scratching the back of his neck. "I don't like it either, but I think he might actually be able to solve this thing."

"Who?"

"Dr. Leonard McCoy."

"Funny, Pike. Who is it?"

"It's McCoy, Jim. We're using McCoy."

Jim's eyes widened and his face began to flush with anger. "You have _got_ to be _kidding_ me! We're consulting one of the most notorious murderers in Georgian history? Are you _insane_? Why would he help us?"

"A man with as talented of a mind as his must be desperate for a good puzzle after all of this time in prison. He also told us that he has a soft spot for you. McCoy's agreed to work with you and _only_ you on this case, so you're going to have to suck it up and deal with it. His experience as a murderer and his PhD in psychology might be able to give you some insight into Khan's thought process and help you get a leg up on him. After we examine that body in Illinois, I'm dropping you off at the prison where McCoy's kept. Do you have any other questions, Jim?"

Jim shifted from foot to foot for a moment, mulling over what he'd just been told. After weighing the potential pros and cons of asking McCoy for help, he said quietly, "No sir. Are we ready to go?"

Chris patted Jim on the shoulder before pressing the intercom button on his desk phone. "Christopher Pike and James Kirk are ready for departure to Illinois."

"Head on up, Pike. The helicopter's ready on the North side," the lady on the intercom replied.

"Thanks, Uhura." Chris ended the call and turned to Jim. "Come on, kiddo. You've got quite the day ahead of you. A new piece of evidence and a visit with a murderer, how exciting."

"And here I thought being a FBI agent was boring."

Chris laughed and led Jim out of the office, folder in hand.

\---

James T. Kirk was raised by Chief of Police Winona Kirk in Riverside, Iowa. His father George, also a police officer, died in action the day Jim was born. Jim was recruited by Christopher Pike, a family friend, at the age of twenty to be a FBI agent because of his sharp and creative mind. Due to his incredible intellect, Jim was able to race through the academy and became one of the youngest agents in history. However, he had not been assigned to a real case until Khan.

Khan was the name given to the kidnapper by the press because he often left notes at his crime scenes with the Mongolian symbol for Khan written on them. Each of his victims were young women with pale, flawless skin, though nothing else connected them until Carol Marcus was kidnapped. Lindsy Frakes was the first girl that had been found, leaving six other girls missing. Jim believed it was because Khan was slipping, as almost all criminals do, possibly because the game was growing old. And perhaps this particular slip up would help narrow the possibilities of where Khan was hiding. Jim was willing to look under every rock in Illinois if it meant finding Khan and the missing girls, but he wasn't sure he was quite ready to consult another famous criminal.

Dr. Leonard H. McCoy was once a surgeon and psychologist in Georgia. Due to his formidable credentials, the FBI had once before enlisted his help in tracking down a serial killer, who turned out to be McCoy. He had been killing what he considered his most annoying patients since he began practicing medicine, but the FBI hadn't caught on for many years. He worked and messed with them for nearly a year before finally revealing himself as the killer. McCoy was known for carefully dissecting his victims and selling their valuable parts on the medical black market. The court ruled him insane, and he was placed in solitary confinement at Central State Hospital in Milledgeville, Georgia. The doctor was obviously unstable and dangerous, and Jim had a plethora of doubts about trusting the man with details of the Khan case. However, if it meant catching Khan and possibly finding some of the girls alive, he was willing to at least try to work with McCoy.

That didn't mean he had to like it, though.

\---

"There are, of course, no finger prints anywhere on the body or any other type of telling marks," Chris said, his voice fighting to be heard against the annoying buzz of phone static.

"No, Khan's too good for that. I'm entering Central State now. There's hardly any service outside, let alone inside; so I'm gunna let you go," Jim said, yanking open the door to the hospital. He felt like a petulant child who wanted to slam doors and stomp around so that his parents knew how displeased he was. Chris could obviously tell this by his tone of voice, which sounded much like it did when Chris first met Jim.

"Remember, Jim. Any lead is a good lead, no matter who it's from."

Jim barely kept himself from rolling his eyes as he flashed his badge at the receptionist. She stood from her desk and led him through a hallway. "Yeah, I hear you. I'll try to play nice with the serial killer. Kirk out."

The receptionist introduced Jim to Dr. Nero, who led Jim down another hallway labeled "Isolation" by a sign above the door.

"I've been the doctor assigned to McCoy ever since he came here. He's shown little to no progress since coming here, but at least he hasn't caused much trouble. He only acts out when he's bored, but the worst damage he's ever done to one of the staff was a few broken bones that couldn't be reset. Because of his volatility, you must stay outside of his cell, you can't have any direct physical contact with him, and you shouldn't let him know anything personal about yourself or your loved ones. McCoy likes to psychoanalyze people, get in there heads and drive them insane."

"Is there a way I can give him things, like something from the case file?" Jim asked.

Dr. Nero looked hesitant. "There is, but I was informed that you were only going to give him information verbally."

"That's fine. He won't need the file anyway. I'm not expecting him to be able to help much, so this shouldn't take long."

"Don't underestimate him, Agent Kirk. He's in here for a reason." Dr. Nero let his ominous warning hang in the air for a moment before stopping in front of a metal door covered in locks. "He's the last cell on the left. Your phone won't have service, but there are four guards positioned at all times in the hallway in case you need anything."

"Thank you, Dr. Nero," Jim said as a guard opened the door for him. The hallway was dimly lit, smelled awful, and made entirely made of metal. Jim walked down the corridor with steady strides and head held high, completely focused on the task ahead of him and not the rude words that the other inmates were spitting at him. The cell that Dr. Nero had described as McCoy's was a little more brightly lit, and Jim couldn't help thinking of the idiom about a light at the end of a tunnel. He ignored whatever philosophical bullshit his brain was trying to come up with and sat down in the chair facing the clear glass wall that exposed McCoy's cell.

The cell was rather average looking, although Jim was right about it being brighter. There was a naked bulb hanging about a foot down from the very high ceiling so that no one could reach it without a ladder. There was a gross toilet and sink on one side of the room and a small cot and blanket on the other, covered in books that Jim couldn't identify due to their tattered covers. McCoy sat on the floor against the back wall, watching Jim with a blank face. When Jim settled into his chair, McCoy stood.

McCoy was thirty years old and stood a little over six feet. He had short, brown hair and dark eyes that looked wrong on his pale skin. There was still some muscle on his thick frame, but Jim bet that he was denied much time to exercise in an attempt to keep him week. Although Jim wasn't anticipating a physical fight with McCoy, he was fairly certain that he could beat McCoy even though he was bigger. The doctor's jaw was strong and his hands were steady, making him seem fierce despite the humble clothes he wore and the grime on his skin. McCoy was probably attractive once, but now he just looked sickly and dirty.

"Good evening, James," McCoy said, his Southern drawl making Jim's skin crawl.

"Hello Dr. McCoy. I'm Agent Kirk. I've been assigned the task of-"

"Spare me, James. I know why you're hear and what you think you want from me, but I don't care about that. How's your father?"

Jim clenched his teeth and counted to ten in his head. "I've been assigned the task of asking you to help-"

"Touchy subject? My apologies. Let me cut to the chase, then. Give me the complete file for the case, and I'll help you."

"I'm afraid I can't do that, Dr. McCoy." Jim's fingers tightened around the manilla folder that sat in his lap. He was only allowed to disclose some details, not all of them.

"You're making excuses because you don't trust me. Dull, James. Try to be more considerate. I'm _so_ bored.

Jim barely bit back the sarcastic reply that he thought of on instinct to hearing McCoy's patronizing tone. "My father's dead. Now help me with this case, or I'll leave."

Interest gleaming in his eyes, McCoy took the bait. "Daddy issues. How wonderful. I'm a father myself, you know. Tell your superiors that I can't help with the case unless they give me _all_ of the evidence. I know they think my wonderful brain can solve anything, but I do require actual information before I can work miracles."

Standing, Jim snapped, "I'll see what I can do. Good bye, Dr. McCoy."

McCoy grinned, displaying a full set of straight, white teeth. "Call me Leonard. And I suggest you be careful around the prisoner two cells over. I think he has a crush on you, darlin'."

Jim nodded curtly and hurried away, trying not to seem too rushed but definitely walking faster than he was when he first entered the hallway. The calls of the prisoners seemed louder than before, and Jim distinctly heard one of them call him "Len's FBI slut". Heart racing, Jim barely kept himself from running through the door and out of the hospital.

"Agent Kirk, are you alright? You're face is flushed," Dr. Nero said upon seeing him.

Jim just shook his head as he took a couple deep breaths. "I'm fine. He wants to see the whole file on the case, but I'm going to have to get permission before I can give him that. I'll be back sometime this week." They traded goodbyes, and Jim left the hospital. After battling with his car keys and his shaky fingers, Jim curled up in the driver's seat and called Chris.

"Christopher Pike here."

"I can't do this. Send someone else."

There was a pause, phone static screaming in Jim's ear. "You know I won't make you do this, but are you really just going to give up? What if McCoy won't work with anyone else?"

Jim tried to listen to Chris's logic, but the words "Len's FBI slut" were still ringing in his head, clouding his judgement. "You may be right. Let me sleep on this, and I'll call you again tomorrow. That okay?"

"Sure, Jim."

Jim ended the call and turned the car on. The drive home seemed longer than usual, and the other drivers on the road were especially annoying. When Jim finally arrived at his house, he immediately grabbed a tub of ice cream and crawled onto his bed. He turned on his television and half-listened to the end of Star Wars VI: Return of the Jedi while he thought. Jim stayed up until three AM processing everything that had happened and deciding what should be done from there.

Jim finally came to the conclusion that whatever discomfort he would face while working with McCoy was nothing compared to the living hell that Khan's captives were probably going through right now if the body of Lindsy Frakes was anything to judge by. He would suck it up and do what had to be done to put this case to rest.

By morning, Jim was ready to face Dr. McCoy again.

 


	2. The Chase

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please note that the story starts getting really dark and gory at the end of this chapter and will continue on into the final chapter. I marked this M with a warning about graphic violence for a reason, though I imagine that Silence of the Lambs fans will find this tame by comparison. Enjoy.

"Here's the file. It includes every detail from the case. You have ten minutes to read over it." Jim shoved the folder into the sliding box built into the glass partition and pushed the drawer to McCoy's side of the wall.

McCoy, much less than startled by Jim's sudden appearance and biting instructions, slunk over to the wall separating them. "Why the change of heart, darlin'? Thought you decided you didn't want my help?"

Jim ground his teeth in determination. He wasn't leaving this hallway until he had answers or he died, whichever came first. "First, don't call me 'darling'. Second, although I may not want your help, I know logically that you might be able to help me catch this bastard. I'm willing to do what needs to be done if it means catching Khan."

Silent laughter shook McCoy's frame. "And what do I get in return for helping you, _sweetheart_?"

Jim took a deep breath. The FBI was willing to transport McCoy to another hospital to get him away from Dr. Nero, who he apparently hated; but Jim knew this wasn't an enticing enough reward. Chris and the rest of the higher ups were under the impression that McCoy would do this for fun and not a prize, but Jim wasn't so naive. So he lied. "We're going to transport you to a nicer hospital on a secluded island in the Bahamas. White sand, blue skies, and no Dr. Nero. How does that sound?" Jim felt like he was selling a timeshare. He hoped he was better at convincing McCoy than himself.

"Dull, James. Do you honestly think I care where they hold me? What about you? What can you give me?" McCoy purred, studying Jim's face from a foot away.

That stunned Jim. Chris had told him that McCoy was fond of him but.... "My companionship until the case is over? You can even call me 'Jim'."

A lecherous smile stretched across McCoy's face. "And when the case is over, you'll have dinner with me?"

 _Red alert, not good,_ Jim thought. That was McCoy's MO. He invited the patients that he wanted to kill over to dinner and killed them in his own house so that he could control the crime scene and keep it clean. But it wasn't like McCoy could do that now. He was under heavy lock and key, basically harmless as long as Jim followed Dr. Nero's rules. "Sure. I'll bring spaghetti."

McCoy laughed. "Then we have ourselves a deal, Jim." He picked up the file from the drawer and flipped through it as if it were a magazine. "This is wrong. Khan isn't crazy, just vengeful. And there's no point coming to me when you already know who it is."

Jim's brows furrowed. "But we don't know. That's why I'm here talking to you."

"And here I thought you were here for my winning personality. No, Khan's given you plenty of hints. It's all here in this report."

Jim, having realized that he was getting no where with this, switched tactics. "Do you know Khan?"

"I've had a lot of patients, Jim."

"But surely you would know if you'd ever met this guy."

Looking very disappointed, McCoy shook his head. "Wrong again, Jim. I told you this guy isn't crazy. He's like everyone else except that he gives in to the natural human instinct to get revenge."

"So you don't know him."

"Of course I know him, Jim. Stop being dull. I just want you to stop being so close-minded. You'll never pick up on Khan's hints if you keep thinking that way."

Frustrated, Jim rubbed his forehead with one finger. "Can you give me a name?"

"John."

Jim leveled a glare at McCoy. "Last name?"

"You don't seem to understand what this is, Jim. This is a game, and you're trying to ruin the fun by expecting me to just hand you things, you spoiled brat."

Jim threw up his hands. "Fine! What else can you give me?"

Smirking, McCoy came closer to the glass and pressed a hand to it. "You're lucky that you're so pretty because without that, there's no way they would have made you an agent. Christopher must be keeping you around just to stare at your lovely eyes since you certainly aren't the smartest agent the FBI has. They should have put Spock on this case. He would have figured it out by now."

Spock was the agent who had worked with McCoy before he confessed that he was the murderer all along. The official report said that Spock was probably days away from catching McCoy if he hadn't revealed himself. Spock was retired now and lived somewhere in Arizona. He was a genius; but Jim always privately thought that he was a better agent than Spock because he relied more on gut instinct than Spock did, which was a pretty vital part of the job.

"Agent Spock has had more than his fair share of dealing with serial killers. Now are you going to help me any more, or should I leave?"

McCoy stared down at Jim's mouth as a grin tugged at the corners of his own lips. "Admiral Marcus is the key here. He's hiding something, a scandal of sorts. You're going to have to piss him off and risk him ruining you if you want to find Khan."

"How do you know this?"

"Khan was my patient, remember?"

"And you just believed everything he told you?"

"Don't insult me. I know when someone's lying."

Jim tried not to blush as he recalled the many times he'd lied to McCoy during the visit. "And if you know him so well, why can't you tell me anything else? You do realize that there are lives at risk because you're withholding information, don't you?"

McCoy laughed and kissed the glass in front of Jim's face. "Doctor-patient confidentiality, darlin'."

\---

"Pike, I need you to bring in Admiral Marcus for questioning."

"You do realize what you just asked me to do is almost impossible, right?"

"Tell him it's the only way to save his daughter."

"He'll think that we think that he's a suspect. And the press will go nuts."

Jim's car rolled to a stop at a red light, and he adjusted the phone cradled against his head with his shoulder. "McCoy seems to think that Khan is motivated by revenge against Marcus, which makes sense since we just found out what all of the victims have in common besides their skin."

"If he's done something to piss off a guy like Khan, then there's no way he's going to let us go snooping into his past. He's probably done something illegal and has done a very good job of covering it up."

"So you agree that he's probably guilty for something, awesome. Call him in. I'll be there in a few hours. Bye!" Jim said quickly before ending the call. He didn't understand why Chris was so reluctant to call Marcus in for questioning. The guy had a possibly shady past that might have something to do with a kidnapper/murderer's motive. That was plenty of enough reason to interrogate him. Unless McCoy was right and Chris was only playing along with Jim's idea that he was in charge of this case. But Jim knew he was a good agent. There was no way that Chris could have lied to Jim this whole time and pulled strings to help him get through the academy just for the hell of it. McCoy was wrong. Jim _was_ smart enough to be an agent, and he would prove it too by catching Khan.

\---

When Jim entered the interrogation room, Admiral Marcus was screaming at Chris.

"How dare you think I have something to do with this! My daughter's been kidnapped and instead of tracking down the son of a bitch that took her, you're wasting your time interrogating _me_! I thought you were a better agent than this, Chris. Unless this is the work of that child that you're so fond of."

Jim cleared his throat and squared his shoulders, trying to look as intimidating as possible. "You're correct, Admiral Marcus. I am the one who requested that you be brought in for questioning. With you're daughter's kidnapping, we finally found a link between all of the victims; and that link is you. You have some type of history with every one of the victims, yet you've never said anything. You didn't think that it was weird that you knew every one of the missing girls? Sounds pretty unlikely to me, sir. So if you'll please sit down, I'd like to ask you what shady thing you've done that could have set off a man like Khan."

An oppressive silence filled the room after Jim finished speaking. The air of confidence around him was vibrant, and it was strengthened by the shocked look on Marcus's face and the smug one on Chris's. Marcus slowly sat down in his designated seat across the table from where Chris sat, and Jim stalked toward him like a cat going for a mouse.

"I'm...I'm a man with great power, Kirk. You don't want to mess with me," Marcus said, voice rough with what Jim hoped was fear or guilt, maybe both.

"And I'm the agent who's been assigned the task of catching Khan and finding his six victims. I will do anything, even lose my job, if it means that I can find Khan and those girls. So give me your worst, sir, because I have nothing to lose and everything to gain.

Chris grinned proudly. "Told you he was good. I'll leave you to it then, Jim. Have fun." He gathered up his papers from on top of the desk, patted Jim's shoulder, and left the room.

"What have you done?" Jim asked firmly. Marcus glared at Jim and kept his mouth shut. Jim figured this wouldn't be easy; but compared to trying to get information out of McCoy, this would be a cakewalk.

\---

As it turned out, McCoy was much more forthright with information than Marcus was. Jim got absolutely nowhere with the interrogation, and was forced to let Marcus go. But Jim was determined to dig up Marcus's past, with or without his help, because if McCoy deemed it a good enough lead to give Jim, then he should probably follow it through.

This was made ten times harder by the media. Marcus almost completely dropped the subject of his daughter's disappearance in favor of calling out Jim and his "lack of integrity". The press clung to the tale of an incompetent FBI agent like flies on honey, and they wouldn't leave Jim alone. He could barely breathe without someone critiquing him, let alone conduct an investigation. So Jim sent Chris a text saying, "Be back in a few days," and hid at the hospital where McCoy was imprisoned. It actually made the research a little easier, having the man with all of the answers close by. Dr. Nero would bring Jim any documents he needed and allowed Jim to use the computer in his office one hallway over. If Jim got stuck or was searching in the wrong direction, McCoy would give him a couple key words as hints in exchange for tidbits of personal information. He never asked anything too revealing, just questions about Jim's favorite color or where he wanted to travel to one day. They weren't friends by any definition of the word, but they were at least less uncomfortable around one another. Every now and again, McCoy would say something witty or sarcastic, and Jim would catch himself laughing. It was weird, laughing at a serial killer's jokes; and Jim could only imagine what the press would do with _that_ information. But then McCoy would lash out, become bitter and mean when he didn't get what he wanted; and Jim would be reminded of why McCoy was locked in a metal and glass cage. Some days, McCoy would be especially terrible and scream that he needed to break bones or harass Jim with lewd, lustful comments. Dr. Nero would escort Jim into his office and disappear into the hallway for hours at a time. When Jim went back in to see McCoy, there was never any physical damage to his person; but he would sit quietly on his bed and glare at the wall. Jim didn't let himself feel pity for the criminal. After all, he was only using McCoy for information to catch another criminal; and what kind of FBI agent sympathizes with murderers? Probably the same one the media thought he was, and there was no way he was going to prove them right by feeling sorry for McCoy, Khan, or anybody convicted of murder. He was a good agent, dammit; and he'd prove it too.

\---

It took over a week of digging and begging McCoy for help before Jim finally made a break. McCoy had slipped him a series of numbers, which he spent a whole day trying to decode before he realized that it was a name. At about one AM the next morning, he slipped out of the hospital and headed to FBI headquarters by a helicopter ordered by Chris, praying that all of the reporters were asleep and wouldn't find him. He searched the archives for hours before he finally found a match to the name McCoy gave him. It was a torpedo that had never been launched, and it happened to be hiding in a warehouse in Chicago. There was no information on who ordered the torpedo to be made or what is was supposed to be used for, but Jim had a sneaking suspicion that seeing the thing in real life might yield more results.

Still sitting at his desk at FBI HQ, Jim pulled out his phone and called Chris.

"Jim, today's my day off; so this better be good."

"I need you to get me a helicopter to Illinois. I think I've found something that has to do with Marcus, but I won't know until I see it."

There was a pause. "Jim...you should leave Marcus alone. There's no point following this rabbit trail when all it's accomplishing is ruining your life."

"No. Marcus has some connection to all of this, and I won't stop until I know what."

"Why are you so convinced that Marcus did anything? Because McCoy told you? Jim, he's a psychopath. He's probably leading you astray on purpose, just like he did Agent Spock."

"You were the one who insisted that I consult him in the first place! And there's nothing else connecting the victims except through Marcus. I _have_ no other leads. And I'm starting to think that you're trying to hide something too. Why are you trying to protect Marcus?"

Chris sighed. "Jim, you're acting paranoid. You know I'm on your side. I want to catch this madman as much as you do, but I'm worried that you're going to destroy yourself in the process. I just want you to be careful, that's all."

Jim tried to keep himself focused on the conversation, but McCoy's old comment about Chris only indulging this fantasy of Jim being a good FBI agent because he's pretty reared its ugly head again. "I'll be fine. Anyway, can you get me that chopper?"

"Yeah. Are you still at HQ?"

"Yes."

"Then I'll be there shortly. We'll head out as soon as I get there."

There was a beat of silence when Jim thought Chris was going to hang up, but he didn't. "Chris, thanks for using your day off to help me. It means a lot, you know."

"Anything for you, kid. Make some coffee. I'll be there by the time it's ready."

\---

The torpedo lead was a huge success. Chris and Jim found the torpedo in some abandoned storage unit, and the name Joachim Weiss was written on the side of the weapon. Weiss turned out to be a member of a black op mission that was organized by, of course, Admiral Alexander Marcus. His report on the mission was brief, saying that the group was sent into Afghanistan to capture a member of the Taliban and failed. They were all killed in action.

"So what, was one of Khan's loved ones killed on this mission? Is that why he's trying to get at Marcus?" Jim asked as they walked to where the helicopter was supposed to meet them.

"Possibly. I'm going to go back to HQ to see what else I can dig up. And I'll handle Marcus. I don't want you to be any more involved with him than possible."

Jim nodded, agreeing with Chris wholeheartedly. "I'll head back down to Georgia and tell McCoy what I found. I want to make sure that I got what he wanted me to find. He's been getting better about letting me know when I'm going in the wrong direction. He hates to see me waste my time on trivial information."

Chris gave him a weird look but apparently decided to not say what he was thinking. "Be careful, Jim."

"Aren't I always?" Jim pulled out his phone and called Dr. Nero.

"Dr. Nero here. How may I help you?"

"This is Agent Kirk. I'm coming back to Georgia."

Jim could hear distant screams in the background while Nero talked. "I'm afraid this isn't a good time."

"Why? What's going on?"

"Dr. McCoy just attempted to pull a nurse's arm off. He broke her clavicle and humerus. I don't think it's safe or smart for you to come back right now. I'll call you when he settles down again."

Jim furrowed his brow and rested one hand on his forehead. "Okay, sure. Thank you, Dr. Nero." He ended the call, running one hand threw his mop of blond hair. "McCoy started acting up again, so I'm not allowed to see him," Jim told Chris. "I think I'll go home then. You'll call if you find out anything else from Marcus?"

Chris nodded. "Yeah. Try to relax until then, and let me do some of the work for once. You've been running yourself too hard."

Although Jim didn't agree, he did promise to take it easy and headed to his apartment after seeing Chris off. Jim tried to sleep, read, do anything that didn't involve the Khan case; but it was a lost cause. Only a few hours after coming home, he left and headed to headquarters. He looked through files in the FBI archive all night. After having found no new evidence, he finally went back home and headed straight for bed.

Jim got four hours of fitful sleep before he headed back to headquarters.

\---

"They're transferring McCoy to Bridgewater in Massachusetts. The higher ups think that McCoy's hint about the torpedo warrants a reward of sorts, so they're taking him from Dr. Nero. You mentioned once that McCoy also said that Khan's first name was John, so we checked the list of people involved with the black op mission with the name John. There are five, and they are all supposedly buried in America; so we're planning to visit each grave and check that the burials are legit. I think we're getting close to the end, Jim. I'm proud of all your hard work."

Jim stared blankly at the floor of his house. Chris was wrong, had to be wrong. There was no way that this was it, the end of the case. "It can't be this easy."

"Sometimes it is, Jim. But don't worry. I said we're getting _close_ to the end. Even if we do find a phoney corpse, we'll still have to figure out where the bastard's hiding. You've still got plenty of work to do, Jim."

"Yeah," Jim said with a sigh, "I guess I do. I'm gunna go see McCoy, I guess. See what else I can get out of him."

"That sounds like a good plan. I'll pick you up at eight tomorrow. Get some sleep, kid."

Jim ended the call and immediately called Bridgewater to see when he could visit. Dr. Chapel, Nero's replacement, gave him a time slot and told Jim how much better McCoy was doing in his new home. The cheeriness in her voice made Jim wonder how McCoy was really doing. While McCoy thought Nero was a moron, he always seemed fond of the bleak atmosphere that surrounded Central State Hospital. If Bridgewater was one of those institutes with bright yellow walls and "sharing time", Jim was positive that McCoy would revolt. The thought made him laugh aloud, and he had to smother it with his fist to keep Dr. Chapel from hearing on the other end of the line. They hung up, and Jim flopped down onto the hotel bed. He felt tingly and warm from imagining the ever grumpy McCoy in a circle of other crazy people talking about their feelings, and he let himself laugh for a good minute since no one could hear or judge him. Jim could almost swear that he... _missed_ McCoy. He almost _liked_ the company of the other man and the strange conversations that they sometimes had about trivial matters, like Jim's fondness for storms or McCoy's hatred for peas. Sure, the conversations were traded in for help on the Khan case; but they helped Jim know McCoy as a person rather than just a criminal. He thought about calling Agent Spock sometime and asking what McCoy was like before Spock knew that he was a murderer.

The word "murderer" left a bitter taste in Jim's mouth, so he turned on the television and tried to loose himself in some home design show until he fell asleep.

\---

Bridgewater turned out to be better than what he had imagined it to be like. The walls were all soothing shades of brown, and McCoy seemed perfectly happy in his all-glass cage away from everybody else in the hospital. He was in a glass box inside of a bigger room that held nothing but a chair, two guards, and a door to the hallway. When Jim came in, McCoy was sitting at an actual wooden desk playing solitaire. There was also a clean, white bed and a box full of new books in the smaller room that held McCoy.

"Ah, and the poster child for corruption within a government agency returns to me. How was Chicago, darlin'?" McCoy said quietly as Jim approached.

"How did you know I went to Chicago?"

The glare that McCoy sent his way was far more comforting than it should have been. "Because I sent you there, moron."

"No," Jim argued, "you gave me a random set of numbers and let me figure it out on my own. How did you know that I was in Chicago?"

"When Nero informed me that I was being transported, I demanded to see you."

That shocked Jim mildly. Never once had McCoy spoken to anyone about Jim as far as he was aware. "Why?'

"Because Nero said I was going to Massachusetts when I distinctly remember you telling me that I was going to a tropical island somewhere in the Bahamas.

Jim shrugged and decided to keep up the lie. "Sorry, buddy. I'm just a lowly agent. They don't tell me anything."

"Clearly."

Jim sat down in the chair next to McCoy, a foot of glass separating them. "Do you like it better here?"

"I miss the guys in the cells next to mine back at Central."

"Do not."

"You're right. They talked badly about you when you were gone."

Jim raised an eyebrow and pointed to one of McCoy's cards. "That's a match. And they talked trash about me while I _was_ there."

Shaking his head, McCoy slid the card into place. "But they were louder about it after you left. It bothered me. That's why I attacked that nurse, you know. They were being so _rude,_ and I had to do something about it. I threw her around a little bit when she opened my door and then went after the guy two cells down. He was the worst."

 _Was_ , Jim thought. "Did you kill him?"

McCoy looked up at Jim. His skin was regaining a little more of a natural hue, and he looked cleaner. But he was still so filthy on the inside. "I tore out his eyes. I'm the only one who get's to look at you that way. His blood felt good in my hands. Did you know that eyeballs aren't as squishy as they look? I mean, sure, the muscle around it is; but the eyeball itself is much less fun to play with."

Jim could feel the bile rising in the back of his throat as he stood.

"And now I've gone and upset you. I'm sorry, darlin'. I promise I don't usually play with my victims. I always sell their goods to someone who deserves them."

Shaking his head and fighting the urge to vomit, Jim turned around and ran to the door. One of the guards quickly came to open it for him.

"I'll show you one day, Jim. It's really more satisfying than you think, feeling the life drain from another human being. You'd love it!" McCoy screamed as Jim darted out the door and down the hallway. He ran out of the hospital and down the street, loosing himself to the feeling of feet rhythmically hitting asphalt until his feet were sore and the sun began to set. He took a taxi to his hotel, and spent the whole night dreaming about McCoy giving him hundreds of wrapped gifts that he was too afraid to open.

\---

Jim had just gotten out of the shower when his phone began to ring.

"Jim, I have big news," Chris said, sounding more cheerful than he had in weeks. "McCoy gave us a name."

Jim dropped the damp towel in his hand. "He did _what_ _?_ _"_

"John Harrison. He lives in Georgia, which makes sense since he was a patient of McCoy's at some point. He wasn't on the list of names from the black op mission because he dropped out before they left America, so we wouldn't have found him during our grave search. I actually got the call while checking a grave in California. I'm heading down to Georgia now."

"Without me?" Jim asked, feeling like a petulant child.

"There's no point. We're still not one hundred percent sure that he'll even be at his home, but you will still get all of the credit for the case. You're reputation will be good as new, Jim. Promise."

Jim sighed and shook his head. "Okay, sure. Kick Khan extra hard in the ribs for me."

"Will do."

Jim placed the phone on the counter and stared at himself in the mirror. The black circles under his eyes and the carpet of blond fuzz on his chin were just _some_ of the physical reminders of how his constant dedication to the case had made him ignore his own health and well-being. He had also lost a lot of weight from constantly skipping meals, and he was reminded of how he once thought he could beat McCoy in a fight if he had to. There was no way he could now. He was all tired skin and achy bones. But even after all of his hard work and self-neglect, he wasn't even going to be the one to make the arrest.

Why had McCoy told Chris and not Jim? Was Jim's violent reaction yesterday a sign to McCoy that he'd broken his toy and that he wouldn't be fun to play with anymore? Or had McCoy finally revealed Khan's identity as a form of apology to Jim for having upset him? _No, because if he were really trying to apologize, he would have told me instead of Chris so that I could be the one to find Khan,_ Jim thought.

Then it hit him like a freight train. _Of course! McCoy gave them the wrong name! He sent Chris on a goose chase so that I could catch Khan myself!_ Jim threw on some clothes, grabbed his stuff, and rushed out the door.

\---

McCoy was waiting for Jim to arrive. He sat stoically on his bed, legs crossed and arms folded. He didn't move until Jim walked up to the glass.

"What are you doing here Jim? Shouldn't you be making the arrest?" he said, standing.

"I know you gave them the wrong name. Who am I really looking for, McCoy?"

There was a pause as McCoy studied Jim's face. "Very perceptive, Jim. That's good, but you know I still can't just tell you who it is. You have to figure it out for yourself, or you won't get any satisfaction from catching him. Think about all you've learned about Khan. You think you have a motive, you think you know who all he's kidnapped, and I think you really know where he is."

Jim stared off into space, trying to put all of the pieces together in his mind. He wanted to be frustrated because he'd thought about nothing else but this case for the last month, and there was nothing new that was just going to click together without another hint. But as McCoy spoke, Jim could see the way McCoy wanted him to organize the facts and started to wonder if he'd been looking at the case the wrong way all along.

_Motive: revenge on Marcus for getting his military buddies killed_

_Victims: seven girls with fair skin_

_Location: ..... Plum River, Illinois?_

"Plum River? Is he by Plum River in Illinois?" Jim asked.

McCoy smiled.

 _Motive: revenge_ _on Marcus for getting his military buddies killed_

_Victims: seven girls with fair...skin!_

"The body we found had sections of skin missing, but they were removed as if he had done it a hundred times before. Like _you_ probably would, actually. Mix that with his military background.... Does he hunt, maybe? Am I looking for someone who has a bunch of guns and lives near some woods?"

McCoy came closer to Jim, smiling like a proud father.

_Motive: revenge on Marcus...._

"Was there more to the torpedo besides the name written on it? We couldn't find any other information on it except that it was supposed to be used on the mission, but the guys were killed before they could use it."

McCoy raised one eyebrow. "Why wouldn't I have just told you the name written on the side then? Why did I make you find the torpedo?"

Jim thought for a long moment.... _Duh, Jim!_ "Because that's not the only torpedo!"

McCoy laughed lightly and shook his head. "I was wrong before, Jim. You are _much_ better than Spock. He wouldn't have been able to fathom the idea that Marcus could have withheld information in his report."

Jim ignored the compliment. He was on a roll now. "So why is that important? I know that there isn't just one torpedo, but what does that-Khan! Khan has the other torpedoes? So I'm looking for a house near Plum River that's by some woods and is filled with hunting equipment and possibly some torpedoes?"

McCoy kissed the glass in front of Jim's face. "That's my boy. So smart and so pretty. Such a good little FBI agent. Now go run along and make the arrest that you've worked so hard for."

Jim grinned triumphantly. "Thank you for all of your help, Dr. McCoy."

McCoy rolled his eyes and sat back down on his bed. "You can thank me properly when you come back for our dinner date after you've caught Khan."

Gathering his belongings, Jim laughed and said, "I'll bring the spaghetti." Then he left the room with a totally different attitude than he had the last time he left and called someone at headquarters to request a chopper and a detailed map of Illinois.

\---

"Just let me go! Please please please! You know who my father is. He'll give you whatever you want if you'll just let me go!"

"No, dear. I'll get what I want from your father by _not_ letting you go. His suffering is all I've wanted for so long, and I get the added pleasure of making you suffer as well.

"You're sick!"

A knife slid straight threw the girl's foot, causing her to scream in pain and blood to pour profusely from the deep wound.

"Your father murdered my friends; and that, my dear, is sick."

The knife was pulled quickly from the foot. Then, the tip of the weapon dug back into the fresh whole and wiggled its way between the skin and muscle, pulling the layers of tissue apart while still endeavoring to keep the skin from tearing anywhere else.

The girl was seconds from passing out, but her screams were echoing against the basement walls in a very obnoxious manor. Her captor reached down and squeezed her throat until she could no longer breathe, holding it until she fell unconscious. He then proceeded to slowly and careful peel the skin away from the girl's foot, wiping the blood on his hand off against her thigh when it coated his hand too much for him to hold the blade steady. He loved the way the blood stained her pale, smooth skin; and the beautiful contrast in color made his own blood rush to his groin. He laid the knife on a nearby table and began wrapping the girl's exposed foot in gauze. He wanted to photograph her face right as she saw what was left of her foot before he continued skinning her until she died of blood loss. He'd send a copy of the photo to Marcus, perhaps. And maybe one to his friend McCoy while he was at it. He was sure McCoy would appreciate all of his hard work.

The captor sat down in the chair next to the unconscious woman and poured himself a couple fingers of whiskey, which he sipped on as he watched blood stain the white gauze that was wrapped around her foot. The rush of adrenaline slowed in his veins, and he was just about to fall asleep when the doorbell upstairs rang out in the old house.


	3. The End

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My apologies for not having this up on Monday like I said I would, but I was out of town longer than I expected and didn't have my laptop with me. Anyway, there are some trigger warnings that need to be addressed; but I don't want to ruin the surprise by telling you here. However, as I've stated before, if you've read/watched The Silence of the Lambs, then this will be nothing new. If you'd like a list of warnings before you read, they are posted in the end notes. Enjoy!

"Jim, I have a lot of news for you."

Sitting down on a mossy rock, Jim shifted the phone against his ear and waited for Chris to continue.

"First, Khan wasn't at the house. There was no one and nothing inside."

Jim nodded, pulling out his water bottle. "I was afraid of that." He refused to let Chris in on his latest revelation about the case. When Chris thought he had Khan, he hadn't included Jim. So now that Jim thought _he_ had Khan, he decided to return the favor.

"Yep. And secondly, McCoy escaped."

Jim's mind went blank for a few seconds as he tried to process that information. " _Shit._ Chis, he knows where I am!"

"Then go to HQ. You'll be safe there. He hasn't been gone long, and everyone's looking for him; so it'll be hard for him to travel. I'll send some people to your apartment and-"

"I'm not in Virginia, Chris! I'm in Illinois, searching some woods by Plum River; and McCoy knows that because _I told him_ _!_ _"_

Chris spewed a long line of curses from the other line. "What kind of moron tells a murderer when he's going away to a secluded forest! That's agent 101, you damn idiot!"

Jim put his bottle up and started walking towards his next location, a house about a half mile away. "Doesn't matter now! Keep me updated on any information you have about McCoy's whereabouts. I'm heading to a house now, and I'm armed."

There was a pause. "You gunna be okay? I can send in someone."

"No. I'm not even sure that McCoy would _want_ to hurt me; so in case he _is_ following me, I don't want to scare him away when I might have a chance to just talk him down myself."

"Sounds risky, Jim."

"Risky is my middle name. Later."

Jim hung up the phone before Chris could reply. While he realized that this could be a trap set by McCoy, Jim really did still think that Khan was somewhere along Plum River. The last thing he needed was a bunch of police officers or FBI agents dropping in on him while he had McCoy or, better yet, Khan cornered.

The house he was approaching was small and quaint, a one-story block made of brick that was probably less than 1000 square feet. Jim could imagine a sweet, old couple living there, maybe with a fresh batch of cookies in the oven while they watched old westerns on their television. Laughing, Jim approached the door and rang the doorbell. There was a long moment of silence before Jim could hear shuffling and someone call, "Be right there!" Jim quickly patted his chest where his gun rested in its holster underneath his jacket as the door opened.

The man who appeared in the doorway was tall and pale with a mess of black hair and pale green eyes. His clothes were worn and dirty, but Jim still had to admit that he was gorgeous. "May I help you?" he asked, voice low and soft.

"Hi, I'm Agent Jim Kirk from the FBI. I'm sorry to bother you, but I need to ask you some questions."

The man tilted his head to one side, eyes calculating as he studied Jim. "Is there something wrong?"

"Not with you, no. I'm trying to find someone that I believe is hiding somewhere near by. I've been asking the locals here to see if they might know where I could find him. I'm looking for someone who probably hunts a lot and was in the military. Does that sound like anyone you know around here? Someone maybe a little sketchy that you've always thought was a suspicious character? I know these are vague questions, but it's all I have to go on right now."

The man nodded slowly. "Yes, that does sound familiar. I think I have a guy like that's home address lying around here somewhere. I'm Mike, by the way. Would you like to come in while I look for it?"

Jim flashed him a grin as he walked into the house. The inside was dimly lit, cold, and filled with junk. _The man may be handsome,_ Jim thought, _but he's a_ _total slob_. Said man disappeared into a room off the kitchen, shuffling papers around while Jim took in his surroundings. Mike seemed pretty tranquil, but Jim was still on edge and kept looking for any signs of trouble. A gun was propped up against the fireplace, but Jim dismissed it since it was highly likely that a guy living by himself in the middle of the forest was a hunter and would therefor need a gun. A stack of newspaper clippings caught his eye next, and he scanned the article on top.

"Well, I thought I had it written down, but I can't find it," Mike called from the other room.

_Admiral Marcus Distraught Over Missing Daughter_ the headline said. A red "x" was drawn over Carol Marcus's face.

"Let me see if I can find a map of the area. Maybe I can just show you where I think you might want to look."

Jim flipped through the other articles in the stack. They were all about the girls Khan took, each with the same "x" on their picture. Jim took a deep breath, trying to appear calm.

Mike walked back into the front room, holding a book of maps. He opened his mouth to say something when he saw Jim standing next to the stack of articles. His eyes flickered back and forth between Jim and the disturbed pile before dropping the map, revealing a gun pointed at Jim. "It's not polite to snoop, Agent."

Heart beating rapidly in his ears, Jim took a slow, steady breath and said, "John Harrison, you're under arrest."

He laughed. "You're adorable. No wonder Agent Pike and Dr. McCoy like you so much. Pretty and dumb, like a good pet. I feel bad about taking away the good doctor's bed warmer, but I think he'll understand. He's always appreciated a good murder."

A shot rang out, and the bullet lodged itself into Jim's thigh. He crumpled to the ground in pain, one hand applying pressure to the wound and the other reached for his gun. Harrison kicked Jim hard in the face, breaking his nose and sending him backwards. After a few more seconds of agonizing consciousness, Jim's vision went black and he passed out.

\---

Jim's eyes slid open, black spots still marring his vision. In the short time he'd been out, Harrison had carried him into a dark room with concrete block walls and cuffed his hands and feet to the legs of the metal table Jim was lying on. Harrison was tearing Jim's clothes away with a knife when he woke up, making the crazed man grin sharply.

"Good. I wanted you awake for this part. You know, as pretty as you are, your skin really is awful. Freckled and tanned from too much sun and covered in acne scars. I usually go for smooth and pale, but I'll let it slide this one time. Plus, I'm not planning on keeping most of you. The skin around your hips is fairly nice, so I'll take that. However, I'm sending your organs to Dr. McCoy. He'll see the poetic beauty of it and forgive me for taking his pet. Then I'll send your scraps to Christopher Pike. One last hurrah before I finally take down Marcus."

"Pike and McCoy both know where I am, and McCoy just escaped from prison. They'll come for me. The game's over, Harrison," Jim spat, trying to sound more in control than he was.

Harrison snickered as he tore the last scraps of fabric from Jim's body. He replaced his knife with a surgical needle filled with liquid. As he squirted some of the fluid out to release any air bubbles, he said, "I'll work fast then if you're so worried about being caught. I wouldn't want to deprive you of the fun."

He stuck the needle into Jim's thigh and pushed the plunger down. After a few seconds, Jim felt a numbness spread from his leg to the rest of his body.

"Just a little morphine to make the foreplay last. And I promise not to kill you until it's worn off." Harrison grabbed a dirty rag from a filthy sink in the corner and gagged Jim with it, leaving a nasty taste on his tongue. "You have some lovely lips, Jimmy. I bet your masters loved biting them," he said, running a calloused finger around Jim's mouth. Jim lurched but didn't get far with his ankles and hands tied. Harrison clicked his tongue in disapproval before reaching for a rope. "But it doesn't look like they disciplined you enough. You're a very bad boy."

Jim could barely feel the rope as Harrison wound it around his body and the table; but when Jim looked down at himself, he could see how the rope bit into his flesh. The skin was already flushing where the binding rubbed, leaving a zig zag line across his neck, chest, waist, groin, thighs, and ankles. Jim tried to twist in the restrains; but, as he figured, he couldn't move.

Harrison laughed and rubbed his hands across the exposed portions of Jim's skin, leaving a strange tingle in his wake whenever he moved. Leaning over the table, he bit Jim's lip until it bled and pulled at the broken skin. Jim tried to scream, move, _anything_ ; but the only thing he accomplished was making Harrison laugh more and bite harder. One of Harrison's hands grabbed the knife again and gently pressed the tip of it against one of Jim's nipples, causing blood to well up through the shallow cut.

Jim could barely feel the damage being done to his own body, but panic and disgust were causing his stomach to churn. His heart was beating rapidly, causing his whole body to throb and making him feel even more panicked.

"Where should I start first, darling?"

The nickname sent Jim reeling. It was said wrong. Jim was only ever called "darling" by a crazy man with a southern drawl, a crazy man who should have come by now to rescue Jim. Or what about Chris, who used to call him "hotshot" when he was young? Where was he? He wouldn't really leave Jim all alone when he thought McCoy was after him, would he? Surely he saw through Jim's bravado earlier on the phone.

Harrison sliced a horizontal line just bellow Jim's belly button. "Stay with me, Agent. No passing out on me, understand?" He slowly began to peel back Jim's skin from muscle just as he had with his other victims. This time, Jim felt it. He screamed out, but the sound was muffled and didn't carry.

Mind racing, Jim tried to focus on something, _anything_ , that wasn't whatever the hell Harrison was doing to him. He tried to imagine his mom or his apartment, but the images kept slipping whenever he accidentally looked down and saw himself covered in his own blood. His stomach flipped violently.

"You're behaving much better than the other girls. Is it because you still think you're going to be rescued by one of your knights in shining armor? That's hilarious. You do realize that you won't be better off if they come for you, right? Dr. McCoy will end up cutting you to pieces anyway, and Pike will just treat you like the delicate flower that you are. I can tell from the look in your eye which you'd prefer. You kinky boy, wanting the man who'll torture you before he kills you instead of the man who thinks you're his sweet little damsel in distress. You'll take whips and chains over holding hands any day, wouldn't you? What would your mommy think, hmm? That her little prince turned out to be a murderer's _whore._ "

Jim couldn't hold back the tears any longer. Sobs began wracking his chest as he tried to take in a calming breath through the filthy rag in his mouth. The emotional and physical trauma had finally hit him like a wall, and the morphine only made it worse. He heard the rip of skin tearing right before he blacked out again.

\---

 When Jim woke again, he hurt all over. Not a blinding pain, but an intense ache that was just under too much to handle. An IV drip was set up next to the table and led to a needle taped to Jim's arm, and he assumed it was morphine since he still felt a little numb all over. His vision swam when he opened his eyes, and he had the urge to vomit. Looking down cautiously, Jim tried to take inventory of himself. His lower abdomen and his hips were wrapped in bloody gauze; but the rest of him was still in one piece, thankfully. The rope seemed to be slightly looser, and Jim was able to move just enough to cause the rope to chafe him. It was while he was squirming that he realized that something was leaking from his oddly sore ass, and Jim assumed the worst. Since Harrison wasn't in the room, Jim let himself freak out for a few moments before he collected himself and started to think. His thoughts were swirling around chaotically, making it hard to put a proper thought together; and Jim wondered if Harrison had injected him with drugs along with the morphine. He pulled at his hand restraints until his wrists bled while he tried to come up with a plan for whenever Harrison came back. All he talked about before Jim passed out was how much he thought Pike and McCoy adored him, which tortured Jim as much as the physical assaults did. Maybe if Jim could get him to talk about something else, he could throw Harrison off his game enough to gain the upper hand. Jim fought with the gag until he was able to let out a fairly loud cry.

The door opened a few seconds later. Harrison was naked and covered in blood, though he was not injured. Before the door shut again, Jim could hear a woman crying somewhere nearby. A stroke of hope rushed through Jim. One of the other victims was still alive then. Carol perhaps? There was still time to save her.

"What's wrong? Were you jealous that I was giving my attention to someone else? I'm sorry, pet. I haven't forgotten you," Harrison said with a filthy leer as he approached Jim. He reached out and gently rested his hand over Jim's gauze-covered hips, using just enough pressure for Jim to feel him against his damaged skin. He cried out on instinct, and Harrison laughed. "The other girls send their love, of course. I would like to have a playdate with all of you, but I'm afraid they're not able to travel. Ms. Marcus can't even stand on her own two feet anymore."

Jim ignored the anger that flared within himself. Instead, he made his eyes look as innocent as possible as he let out puppy-like whine and tried to lick his lips.

"Aw, does my sweet boy want me to take off his gag?" Harrison cooed.

Jim nodded, trying to appear bashful. He could see Harrison's cock twitch at that as he untied the rag from Jim's face and threw it to the floor. "Thank you," he tried to say, but his voice was cracked and rough from disuse. His mouth was dry and cottony, and he wondered if he should push his luck by asking for something to drink. With the erection Harrison was sporting, Jim decided not to ask in fear that he would be given something besides water. Instead he asked, "Why did you leave notes with the word 'Khan' at each crime scene?"

Harrison glared and dug his heel into Jim's stomach, making him shout. "Because I wanted Marcus to know that I was coming for him. No more questions, or I'll gag you again."

Frantically, Jim tried to change tactics. He couldn't risk taking another step backwards. By acting like a "sweet boy", he'd managed to gain a little favor with Harrison. It was disgusting but worth another try. He tried to sound childlike as he said, "I'm sorry. I just want to know more about you. You're much more interesting than Chris."

Predictably, a smug grin broke out on Harrison's face. "Bet he doesn't treat you the way you want him to, does he?"

Jim held back his snarky comment about how Chris treats Jim like a professional, just the way he likes it. "Nope. Neither does Leonard. He's too gentle." The words made his stomach churn but were clearly making Khan more comfortable. He seemed to be much calmer when he was mocking Jim, and the agent used that to his advantage.

"You like it rough, don't you boy? A dirty thing like you needs to be tossed around a little, shown who's boss."

Moaning like some cheesy porn star, Jim nodded eagerly. " _Yes._ Leonard just doesn't seem to understand that, but you do. I bet you're gunna mess me up real good, aren't you?" Jim tried desperately not to show how very much he _didn't_ want McCoy or Harrison to touch him in any way, gentle or rough.

Harrison was eating the awful dialogue right out of Jim's hand, and he was growing more consumed with lust by the second. "Sure, sweetheart. You were pretty good while you slept, but I'd bet you'd be even better awake."

Jim swallowed back bile. "You want me to struggle while you take me?" He batted his eyelashes and bit his lip, mostly to keep himself from scowling.

"I want you to kick and _scream_ while I have at you," Harrison said with a laugh, squeezing Jim's thigh hard enough to bruise.

_Kick and scream,_ Jim thought. _Perfect._ He took a second to figure out how to word his request without making Harrison suspicious. "Let me ride you, _please_. You can hold my wrists together and bite me _all over._ "

And like a cat on a mouse, Harrison pounced on Jim. He tore away the rope and unlocked Jim's hands and feet from the table. Granted, he locked Jim's hands back together and kept the IV attached to his arm, but the rest of Jim was finally free. While Harrison was busy sucking on Jim's neck, Jim took inventory of the room. A knife was on a table a few feet away, but Jim couldn't hold the thing and attack properly with his hands tied behind his back. Jim's mind fought with the drugs in his system, trying to figure out a plan of escape while still keeping Harrison interested.

Jim tossed his head back as if he were in the throws of passion and waited until Harrison pulled away before quickly snapping his head forward, connecting with Harrison's face hard. The captor yelped as he pushed Jim away, giving Jim the momentum he needed to stand up without his hands. Adrenaline fought with the morphine and drugs in Jim's blood, though he still managed to make it out of the room before Harrison could even stand back up. He raced down the hallway and slid into a room before Harrison could see which way he went. Jim heard his angry scream before the sound of doors being knocked inwards. Jim threw himself at the metal desk in the middle of the room to make it tip over, tossed the chain of the handcuffs around one of the legs, and tried to pull away with enough force to make the chain break; but nothing happened. He was too weak. Harrison burst into the room with a menacing growl and headed towards Jim. Instead of fighting to get away, Jim stayed put while Harrison grabbed his shoulders and pulled roughly. Because the other man was running on pure adrenaline, unlike Jim who was weakened by drugs, he was able to easily use enough power to break the chain on the table leg. The momentum sent them flying to the floor, and Jim used Harrison's surprise to punch him square in the face. He jumped to his feet, kicked Harrison's head again for good measure, and darted off.

He ran up the stairs back into the living room and grabbed the gun he saw earlier by the fireplace. Jim barely had time to hope that the gun was loaded before Harrison came barreling towards him, and Jim fired the gun. The bullet hit Harrison in the right shoulder, and a second hit him in the stomach. He fired one more shot into Harrison's legs before the man fell to the floor, and Jim let out a victory cry. An old, corded telephone was connected to the kitchen wall, and Jim quickly rushed to it and dialed Chris.

"Pick up, pick up, pick up!" he growled, searching for something to tie Harrison up with.

"Christopher Pike here. Who is this?"

_No hello?_ Jim thought dryly. "It's Jim. I've found Khan."

"Where? Do you have him? I'm tracing your call now."

"Yeah. I had to shoot him, but he'll live long enough for a medic to get here."

"That's my boy!" Chris exclaimed with pride, though the wording made Jim wince. And then the pain hit.

"Chris, I'm injured. Badly. Worse than Khan. Please hurry." Jim fought through the first wave of pain as he tied Harrison to the heaviest looking bookshelf with a long bungee chord he found nearby.

"We're on our way, Jim. Keep talking to me to keep yourself conscious. Do you still have a weapon?"

Jim slid down against a nearby wall, keeping Harrison in his sight and his gun in his hand. "Yeah, and I have him tied up."

"Good, that's good. Are you in his house?"

"Yes. And there's a girl here somewhere. I don't know if she's still alive, but I heard her screaming earlier. It might be Carol. He also mentioned that there are others here too."

"That's wonderful, Jim. You've done so well. I'm so proud of you."

The words instantly reminded him of all the awful things Harrison had said to him, and he finally gave into his need to throw up. He could distantly hear Chris asking him something, but he was in too much pain for him to understand the words.

Right before Jim dropped off into unconsciousness, he saw the front door slam open and a man walk into the house.

"Hey, darlin'. Miss me?"

\---

Jim woke to a ray of sunshine streaming in through a curtain and the smell of coffee wafting through the air. Although in pain, Jim felt much better than he had when he woke up in Harrison's basement. The room he was in now was pale pink and there were white ruffles on everything. The window was framed by floral curtains that matched the sheets that covered Jim, and there was an open chest on the far wall filled with dolls. His wrist was attached to an IV drip, and Jim pulled the needle out of his vein on instinct. Moving slowly as to not disturb any of his injuries, Jim carefully got out of the plush bed. His bruised and bandaged body was wrapped in a large, light blue shirt that hung off of one shoulder and barely covered Jim's ass, a pair of white women's boy shorts, and white stockings that were held up on his muscular thighs with bands of elastic lace.

_What the hell?_ he thought, looking out the window at the view of a beach. He'd never seen the place before; but he was fairly certain that he wasn't in a hospital room, which made the IV look even more suspicious. Another one of Harrison's games? Unlikely since Jim didn't feel like he was on the same heavy drugs as before, though he kept his guard up just in case. Jim grabbed the drip stand for self-defense and opened the bedroom door.

He walked into a large, open room with two walls made completely of glass that displayed a beautiful view of the ocean outside. A kitchen was arranged on the concrete wall to Jim's right, and the space in front of him held a couch, television, and a small table and two chairs that had been placed in the corner where the two glass walls met. Dr. Leonard McCoy sat contently in one of the chairs, sipping from a mug and reading a newspaper.

"There's still coffee in the pot if you want it, Jim," he said, southern accent washing over Jim like a wave of comfort.

Jim fought the relaxation that tried to settle in his bones by tightening his grip on the drip stand. "Where am I?"

McCoy didn't even look up from the paper. "I won't answer stupid questions, Jim. You should know that by now. Where do _you_ think you are?"

"Your house," he said, trying to make it sound like a statement rather than a question.

"Ding ding ding! We have a winner. Sit down. You're making me anxious."

" _I'm_ making _you_ anxious?! That's rich."

Finally setting down the paper, McCoy rolled his eyes and turned to look at Jim. He scoffed. "Do you honestly think that a flimsy metal pole will protect you from me?"

"You don't have me tied up, so I'm guessing you don't see me as a threat. Big mistake. You should've taken a lesson from the last guy who underestimated me."

"You mean the one I rescued you from?" McCoy walked over to the kitchen and poured another cup of coffee.

Jim frowned and let go of the IV stand. "Excuse you. I shot Harrison three times and had him tied to a bookshelf. I had everything under control before _you kidnapped me._ "

That actually got a chuckle out of McCoy. "You were unconscious and bleeding all over the floor when I got there. You're lucky I found you when I did. There's only so much a paramedic can do with a corpse."

Jim snatched the cup from McCoy and sat down on the couch moodily. "Pike was on his way with the cavalry. I didn't need your help. I actually probably could have used proper medical treatment more than whatever the hell you did to me." One of McCoy's raised eyebrows was all it took to make Jim realize what he'd just said. McCoy was a _surgeon_ for heaven's sake. No one was better qualified to take care of Jim's injuries than him. Jim blushed. "Whatever. Anyway, what the hell am I wearing?"

McCoy hummed happily as he placed a frying pan on the stove. "Something comfortable that won't aggravate your injuries."

"A pair of sweats wouldn't do?"

There was a pause as McCoy considered the question. "I told you that I had a daughter, right?"

Jim furrowed his brows. "Yeah. Why?"

Instead of answering, McCoy got some eggs out of the fridge. "I'm making you an omelet. Do you want salsa with it?"

"What kind of domestic Twilight Zone am I caught in?"

That caused McCoy to burst out laughing, almost as if he were surprised by his own reaction. "You're my patient, Jim. I have to take care of you."

"You're holding me hostage."

"The only thing keeping you from walking out of this apartment is the temptation of a good, hot meal and the chance to learn more about me before you run back to your sweetheart."

Jim scowled. "First, I am positive that you would stop me if I just tried to walk out of here. Second, I'm also tempted not to leave because I'm not wearing real clothes, I don't have a way of communicating with anyone but you, and I'm injured. And third, Pike is _not_ my sweetheart. I don't know why you murderers all seem to think that he's into me. He's more like my dad than anything."

Sliding the omelet onto a plate, McCoy replied smoothly, "I wouldn't stop you, you are wearing clothes, the phone's on the counter by the toaster, you're healed enough to travel, Pike is  _clearly_ besotted with you, and please tell me more about your daddy issues."

Jim rolled his eyes and scooted away when McCoy sat next to him on the couch. The older man scooped up a bit of egg and salsa before holding it up to Jim's mouth.

"Oh no. That's not happening. I can feed myself."

McCoy pulled the fork and plate away from him. "I spent most of my life killing people and selling their organs illegally. Do you really want to deny me the simple pleasure of feeding you?"

A shiver ran down Jim's spine, but he wasn't as disturbed and disgusted by the threat as he probably should have been. Despite McCoy's assurance that Jim could leave whenever he wanted, he really didn't think he would still be able to if he pissed the doctor off. And he really was hungry. So he gave in and opened his mouth. Jim had spent enough time with Harrison to picture the disgusting leer that would have been on his face if he were in McCoy's position. However, McCoy simply smiled and fed Jim the bite of egg.

They sat like that for a while, McCoy silently feeding him while Jim fiddled grumpily with the lace of his stockings and tried to think of something to say. When he finally finished the omelet, he asked, "Can I have another change of clothes? I'm really uncomfortable."

McCoy sighed and ran a finger down Jim's exposed shoulder. It should have made Jim's skin crawl, but instead it left a trail of warmth that Jim found himself wanting more of. "I've been keeping you on a mix of sleeping and pain medications while you've been here. You've woken up a few times, but I just put you back under until your wounds had mostly healed up. The medicine should be out of your system soon, and then you can go. I'll drop you off somewhere where Pike can easily come get you, and then you can call him. Don't bother trying to find this place again because I'll have moved on by the time you start searching."

The sad look on McCoy's face made Jim ask, "What if I stayed?"

"You won't."

"What if I decided later that I wanted to come back to you?"

McCoy grinned and stroked Jim's cheek. "Then I'll come get you," he said softly.

Jim nodded, looking down at his exposed lap. "Thank you for taking care of me. Though you do realize that you're still an escaped prisoner and that I'm still an FBI agent, right? I will eventually have to come looking for you."

A gentle laughed filled the warm air between them as McCoy leaned in closer. "This need to find me, is that another daddy issue thing? You've got enough to match mine, I think."

Jim snorted lightly and shook his head. "I don't have daddy issues."

Wrapping one hand around the back of Jim's neck, McCoy pulled Jim's face up to his. "Then why are you still wearing those clothes, and why did you let me hand-feed you?"

"Because you won't give me another change of clothes, and you threatened me when I tried to feed myself."

McCoy loosely wrapped his other hand around one of Jim's exposed thighs. "I did no such thing."

"Then give me another change of clothes."

"Only if you take those off in front of me."

And then McCoy pressed his mouth to Jim's.

\---

Chris shook his head as he read over Jim's medical report. "Good grief, Jim. You were doped up on some seriously heavy psychoactive drugs. No wonder you still don't feel right."

"I feel fine, Chris. I just don't see any point in chasing after McCoy when we know we won't be able to find him."

"This coming from the man who did everything he could to find Khan when he had every reason to quit. And you wonder why I think your head's still messed up."

Jim shook his head and sat down on the corner of Chris's desk in front of him. "Anyway, I'm ready to forget about the whole ordeal. I just want to go back to my apartment and sleep until you find another case for me."

Laughing, Chris put down the stack of reports. "You deserve a break, kid. You've done so well for having such a rough first case."

"Did you have any doubts that I could do it?" Jim meant for the words to be joking, but he realized how desperate he was for a serious answer once he said it.

Chris shrugged. "Yeah, I guess I did. You were only given the case in the first place because the department heads wanted to see if you were as good as I had been saying you were. So I guess it's my fault for choosing this case to give you. I was worried for a while that I'd made the wrong choice, even called up Spock to see if he'd consider taking this on."

A pang of hurt twisted Jim's stomach. "But because the case was hard and not because I'm a bad agent or anything, right?"

"Well.... It _did_ take you a long time to find Harrison, you know," Chris said, almost hesitant to answer.

Jim saw red. " _Excuse me?_ If I was taking so long, why didn't you find him yourself?"

Chris sighed, exasperated. "Because, Jim, I'm constantly busy with a hundred other things. I don't have time to hold your hand through every case."

" _Every case?!_ How in the hell have I not proven myself with this one?!"

"Jim...the fact remains that it took you more time than the higher ups liked for you to find Harrison. However, your heroic actions and the fact that you _did_ eventually find him have given them more than enough reasons to keep you. Don't worry about it. And if anyone ever starts questioning your ability to be an effective agent, I will readily jump to defend you."

"So you _don't_ think I'm a good enough agent. You think you have to come to my rescue every time someone questions my capabilities or else I'll be let go."

Chris stood and tilted Jim's face up with one hand. "You're talking like a crazy person. _Of course_ I think you're a good agent. Maybe not the absolute best in all of FBI history, but I also think you have the potential to be that one day if you work hard enough. And having me as a connection is supposed to be a comforting thing, not a blow to your ego. I can get you almost anything you'd ever need for a case, like when you asked me to bring in Marcus for questioning."

Jim let Chris's words sink in for a moment. "Why were you acting so weird about all of that with Marcus, like you were defending him?"

"This again?" he asked gently with a smile.

Nodding, Jim sat up straighter. "Stop hiding things from me, Chris. I think I deserve to know the truth after all I've been through."

Chris sighed and rested his hands on the desk on either side of Jim. "Marcus and I used to be good buddies. He was the one who suggested I join the FBI back when we were younger. Anyway, a few years ago, he came to me and said he had messed something up and needed me to help him lie on some of his reports. I didn't want him to get in trouble, so I helped him. But I swear I had no idea what he was lying about until you figured it out. When you first wanted to question him, I just wanted to protect him from whatever stupid thing he'd done, not thinking that he could have done something so serious."

"He lied on an official report, Chris; and you knew about it. It doesn't get much more serious than that."

Chris laughed awkwardly as he pushed a lock of hair out of Jim's eyes. "Yes, I know. I screwed up. But once you figured out that Marcus was in deep for something pertaining to Harrison, did I not help you get information from him?"

As silence settled over the room, Jim tried to think about this from Chris's point of view. But however he twisted it, it was still wrong.

"Admit it. You couldn't have caught Harrison without my help. You _need_ me," Chris said playfully as he leaned in closer to Jim's face.

Jim slapped him. _Hard._ "You're lucky that I'm not going to turn you in for aiding Marcus in a criminal act. Touch me again, and I will." With that, Jim pushed Chris away from him and stormed out of the room.

\---

Jim broke the speed limits all the way back to his apartment. The three rooms he used to call home were dusty and foreign since it had been so long since he'd last been there. He thought about how beautiful McCoy's house had been and wished he could live in a place like that instead of his dark apartment in the middle of disgusting D.C.

After realizing that all of the food in his fridge was out of date, Jim put on a pot of canned soup, cracked open a beer, and settled onto the couch with Harrison's written confession. Although Jim was only assigned the job of catching Harrison, he was very interested in learning the details of the case. Some agents were more concerned with catching bad guys than knowing anything about them, but Jim thought that knowing why people do the crazy things that they do might prove helpful in another case down the road. So he was more than happy to spend a couple minutes reading about what all of the Khan puzzle pieces had to do with McCoy, Marcus, torpedoes, and the missing girls.

John Harrison, nicknamed Khan by his military buddies for his Genghis Khan-like fury while in Afghanistan, and a select group of others were sent into Afghanistan under the orders of Admiral Alexander Marcus for a black op mission. An American officer was being held in a mine on the Band-e Amir National Park by one of the lakes, and Harrison's group was supposed to rescue the prisoner and destroy the compound and everyone in it with a series of torpedoes launched from a boat nearby. However, they were caught mid-operation, and Marcus did nothing to try to save them. He instead abandoned ship and ran away from his problems with the belief that no one but he and God would ever know about the incident. He lied on his report and to everyone else who asked. No one questioned the Admiral, and no one brought up the incident. He took a single torpedo back as proof of his faulty report and locked it away in a storage facility somewhere in Chicago so no one could find it. Marcus firmly believed that the skeletons in his closet were buried under six feet of clever lies and an Admiral's power.

And then John Harrison woke up.

Harrison had barely escaped the massacre at Band-e Amir and was found half-dead by a local fisherman. The man took Harrison to a hospital, where he stayed for over a year in a coma. After another year of rehab, he scoured the bottom of the lake at Band-e Amir for the boat that was meant to save his friends. He eventually found a few of the torpedoes buried in the wreckage of the sunken ship, and took pieces of them back with him to his home in Georgia. Then, he began plotting his revenge.

His doctor, Leonard McCoy, listened to his insane tale but refused to help Harrison get even, though he did offer a few hints to help him along. Due to McCoy's friendship with Agent Spock at the time, he had access to a lot of the FBI's archives, which explained how he knew about the torpedo hidden away in Chicago.

Harrison decided to start sending Marcus little warnings by kidnapping girls that Marcus knew from this family friend or that classmate of Carol's and leaving a note at each crime scene that only Marcus would understand. But his little game of cat and mouse only lasted so long before he grew tired of waiting. He let go of one of the bodies to show Marcus what he was doing to all of those girls before finally kidnapping Carol, a last sign to say, "You're next."

When asked why he skinned his victims, Harrison reportedly laughed and said, "There is no deep meaning behind it. I'm simply a psychopath who loves the feeling of separating skin from muscle."

The case looked so simple when it was all written out on paper, and Jim wondered why McCoy was supposedly more terrible than Harrison. McCoy at least sold the organs he took from his victims to other people who needed them, whereas Harrison tortured people just for the hell of it.

And then Jim thought again about how angry he was with Chris. Harrison and McCoy had been right about him. He and Marcus were the reason why Harrison had done what he had and gotten away with it for so long. Was everyone in the FBI this messed up? If so, then what the hell was the point of working for them? Jim was nothing but a pawn sent to clean up someone else's mess, and he had been through hell doing it. Why should he have to suffer because Marcus or any of the other assholes higher than him screwed up?

"Damn it!" Jim yelled, throwing the case file across the room. Just as he stood to get another beer, someone knocked on the door. Jim, already irate, hardly felt like dealing with someone right now; but he answer the door anyway.

It was McCoy.

"Howdy, Jim. Mind if I come in?"

Jim quickly backed up into his apartment, shutting and locking the door after McCoy. "Why are you here?"

"I told you that I'd come get you if you changed your mind. And by the way you stormed away from the FBI building, I guessed you were ready to come with me."

Jim sat on the couch and buried his head in his hands. "I just don't know anymore, about _anything_. Can I really just go skip away into the sunset with an escaped murderer because I realized that the system and people I've always trusted are one big, lying shit storm?"

McCoy shrugged. "Can you really just let yourself be happy after those people you once trusted betrayed you and put you through hell? I don't see Marcus trapped in Harrison's basement while he is drugged, raped, and tortured for days until he's able to stage his own escape, do you?"

Jim looked up. "You're right. Who the hell cares about what they want? I'll let some other naive newbie clean up those assholes' mistakes. I'm tired, hurt, angry, and I just want to relax for as long as I can. I deserve that, right?"

Taking a tentative step forward at first, McCoy wrapped his arms around Jim's waist and nuzzled the top of his head. "You do, darlin'. And I want to give you what you deserve."

"You're not going to kill me and sell my organs on a black market?" Jim asked with a grin.

McCoy laughed and pressed a chaste kiss to Jim's throat. "No. No one else deserves these fine organs but you."

Resting his hands on McCoy's shoulders, Jim leaned in and captured McCoy's mouth with his own. His lips were as soft as Jim remembered them being, and he tasted like expensive whiskey. McCoy slid his warm hands underneath Jim's shirt and up his back, carefully avoiding his still-healing bruises. They bit and licked at each other for a few more moments before McCoy pulled away to suck at Jim's clavicle and run a finger over one of Jim's nipples. Jim shivered at the touch and slid his hands into McCoy's back pockets in retaliation, gently squeezing the flesh underneath the denim. McCoy growled and bit Jim's earlobe.

"Let's go, sweetheart. I've got a house by the beach that I think you'd like to see."

"Oh?" Jim asked, voice breathy as McCoy kept nibbling at his ear.

"It's on a secluded island in the Bahamas. White sand, blue skies, and nobody for miles in every direction. How does that sound?"

Jim recognized McCoy's words as something he'd said ages ago when they first started working on the Khan case together. Jim has promised him that deal in exchange for information. The sentimentality made Jim laugh. He pulled McCoy's face up for another rough kiss before whispering, "I'll bring the spaghetti."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The warnings I mentioned at the beginning notes are for detailed accounts of fictional rape and torture and hints of incest, all of which are present in the books/movies The Silence of the Lambs and Hannibal, which this fanfiction is based on. There is also a tiny amount of crossdressing, though I promise it too is a throwback to the book Hannibal.
> 
> Anyway, I hope you liked this! I sure enjoyed writing it. All comments are welcomed and appreciated. :)


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